


Best Served Cold

by CurufinweAtarinke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Discussion of harming a child, Gen, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, and honestly probably, will add more tags as more chapters come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-09-01 19:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16771231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurufinweAtarinke/pseuds/CurufinweAtarinke
Summary: Celegorm and Curufin are the last Fëanorians left alive, not Maedhros and Maglor. This has consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celegorm and Curufin aren’t specifically evil, but in the eyes of Elrond here they are understandably pretty terrifying.

The sounds of battle outside are loud, louder even than the surf crashing against the cliffs below, but inside the room it is silent. The only noises are the footsteps of the elf who just entered, closing the door behind him. His long, dark hair falls over blood spattered armour, and he is bleeding from a shallow cut on his forehead. His sword drips blood onto the floor.

Mother stands protectively in front of them as the elf makes his way towards her, holding her glowing gem.

He speaks, “Give it to me. Now.”

“No!” Mother replies. “It is mine by right now, from my grandmother and grandfather. It is all I have of the homeland _you_ destroyed!”

The elf’s face twists into rage. “What right? The right of _thieves?_ We warned you this was coming, sent messages with our demands. We tried _everything_ before it came to this, as we did in Doriath, and now as then it fell on the deaf ears of thieves too entranced by my father’s work to understand that they should not take what is not theirs!”

He is still several paces from them, and Mother pushes Elrond back with her free arm to get him to let go of her leg. He clings instead to Elros, more terrified than he has ever been before. Mother slowly moves herself sideways, still facing the elf, leaving them exposed. Elrond squeaks in fear before silencing himself, and the elf glances at him and Elros for a second, before his piercing gaze returns to their mother, and the bright jewel she holds.

Mother is in front of the wide balcony now, and the gusts of wind are making her hair billow. She had thrown open the doors for them to try and make their escape through before the bloodied elf entered. As if sensing something, the elf dashes towards her, crying out, but Mother is faster, and runs to the balcony edge.

Mother jumps but Elrond does not cover his eyes. His brother next to him does not either. They watch in horror as she leaps the balustrade to plummet from view, down to the rocks Elrond knows lie beneath, for Mother had always told them to be careful when playing on the balcony for fear of them. He turns away to look at Elros, and feels tears make their way down his face. He is numb with shock.

The elf stays where he is for a moment, then curses loudly, with words that Mother would chastise either of the twins for using. He walks with slow, measured steps to where they are crouched, clutching at each other with white knuckled fingers.

Elrond looks up at him. He isn’t even as tall as Mother, but to Elrond at this moment the elf feels taller than anyone he has ever met. His armour is silver but stained with blood, and his red cloak is tattered at the edges. His gaze is piercing, his grey eyes glowing like some of the Noldor who live in Sirion. _Lived_ in Sirion.

The door opens and the elf turns away to greet the new person entering. This new elf is far taller than the original, with long silver hair tied into many messy braids. He, too, is liberally spattered with blood.

The two enter a frantic conversation in a language that Elrond cannot understand, but has heard several people speak when they walked through the market in Sirion. Elros presses close to his side as the dark haired elf gestures angrily to the balcony. The silver haired elf says something else and the other lets out a low moan of what can only be grief. Elros is sobbing, but all Elrond feels is numb, as though this is a dream. Then, the elves turn to face them.

“What shall we do with them, Curvo?” asks the tall one. Elrond abruptly realises that they are speaking now in Sindarin. Perhaps they feel it rude to discuss his and Elros’ fate in a language they do not understand? Elrond fights the bizarre urge to laugh.

“Hostages,” ‘Curvo’ replies. “I saw her fly off.”

“I told you to take your bow,” the other says, only to be smacked by ‘Curvo’.

“Don’t start. If you were here like you were supposed to be, we’d have killed her where she stood. So, hostages.”

“Really?” the other elf says. “You sure she’ll come back for them? Seems like a lot of effort for potentially nothing.”

The other elf squats in front of them, grinning. The blood splashed across his face and the bone tied into his silver hair lends him a wild appearance that should terrify Elrond, but he feels still as though he is underwater, as though this is happening to someone else. He can smell urine, and distantly hears Elros crying louder next to him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Turco,” ‘Curvo’ sighs, “you’re cleaning that one up.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt them,” ‘Turco’ says, standing back up. “Just wanted to see you get all protective of them. You’re adorable when your fatherly reflexes kick in.”

‘Curvo’ sighs again, and approaches to stand next to him. “I am Curufin, son of Fëanor,” he says, addressing Elrond and Elros, “and this is my brother Celegorm.” Celegorm gives a jaunty wave that makes Elros shudder and press himself closer to Elrond. Elrond just stares.

“Well, one of them seems to be acting normally,” Celegorm says, gesturing to Elros, “but I think the other one’s broken.”

“Shock,” Curufin says tersely, and he reaches to grab Elrond. Elrond doesn’t even fight him. Distantly, he registers Elros screaming, before being muffled as Celegorm grabs him and covers his mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t even try to bite, kid, these are my gloves I use to train creatures with far sharper teeth than yours,” Celegorm says, smiling. Elrond wishes he’d stop. “Now, will you shut it, or do we only need one hostage?”

Elros immediately quiets as Celegorm slings him over a shoulder, grimacing at Elros’ damp trousers.

“Stop scaring them, Turco,” Curufin says. “It’s rare that I have to be the one to rein you in, but the sins of the mother should not fall on the sons. Besides, we need them.”

“Would it not be more effective to kill one, to show we mean business?” asks Celegorm, making Elros squirm in his grip but to no avail. He looks at Curufin and rolls his eyes. “You always become so dull when kids are involved.”

Curufin is unimpressed. “Think of it like this. What better revenge is there than raising her sons, happy and healthy, in a way she would despise? What better vengeance can you visit upon the line of Lúthien than to do that?”

Celegorm raises an eyebrow at his words, then grins, even wider than he has before, showing off sharp eyeteeth. “You’re right, as always,” he says. “That does sound like the best revenge.” Over his shoulder, Elros is sobbing again.

Elrond looks up at Curufin’s face to see his reaction, which is a smile. It’s a nice smile, Elrond thinks, too nice for anyone covered in blood. He does not resist as strong arms lift him over Curufin’s shoulder. The armour sticks into his stomach a little, but Elrond can handle it.

“That blood getting in your eye?” he hears Celegorm ask. “I’d be worried about that wound if I didn’t know you had such a hard head.”

Curufin chuckles, and replies in the other language, prompting Celegorm to switch back too and the pair share a conversation Elrond cannot understand as they walk towards the door.

He stares into the room they are leaving behind now, at the bloody footprints on the floor in their mother’s bedroom as he is carried away from everything he has ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curvo is the ‘nicer’ one here because 1) he’s a dad and 2) he can see the value in getting the kids on their side as opposed to Turco who just thinks it’d be kinder to kill them.
> 
> This is my first actually plotty work, so I’m not really sure how this is going to go! Hopefully writing this will be as fun as it has been so far for my other fics!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of the aftermath of a massacre

Outside the quiet sanctuary of the room, the city is in chaos. Elrond can hear screaming, and can see smoke, and smell an awful stench he remembers from when he caught his hair on a candle, as well as what he dimly thinks might be burning flesh. There are people constantly running past, and Celegorm barks orders to several breathless elves who come up behind them to ask questions.

“It’s almost over,” Curufin says, dispassionately, and Elrond can still hear Elros crying quietly nearby and distantly realises that he is crying too.

He looks around as much as possible, taking in what he knows must be the last sights of his home. Even in his numb state, what he sees is shocking. There are bodies everywhere, lying unmoving and bloody. Stalking between them, feasting is a pack of the largest dogs Elrond has ever seen.

One of them trots up to present an unrecognisable scrap of flesh to Celegorm, who crouches down, Elros still on his shoulder, to enthusiastically pet the dog and congratulate it on its prize.

He gasps in horror as he realises it is a hand. Abruptly, his head is covered by something, and he realises Curufin has tossed his cloak over his head.

“Turco,” Curufin says, “we don’t want them traumatised any more than they have to be. Cover his head.”

Elrond is more grateful than he should be.

“Hadn’t thought about that,” says Celegorm, and Elros’ sobs are abruptly muffled. “Guess we’re a bit desensitised to this stuff now, huh?”

Elrond can see nothing now, but he is glad for it, for his other senses still work and he knows he does not want to witness the things he hears. There is still the occasional clash of swords, but mostly there is only the screams of the dying, and the sound of those awful dogs enjoying their meal. Above them, he can hear the mews of seagulls that he and Elros feed by the harbour, and he sniffles as he realises they never will again.

They are moving out of the city, Elrond thinks, and is proven right when he is set down and his makeshift blindfold is removed and they are some way away from the gates, on the grassy cliff overlooking the harbour where he and Elros liked to play occasionally.

There is thick black smoke billowing from the harbour below, and Elrond realises with a jolt that they must have burnt the ships to prevent anyone from escaping. The numbness is receding now, and the abrupt rush of emotion makes him wish for it back.

“Elrond!” Elros cries, immediately running for him once out of Celegorm’s grasp. He is grabbed instantly by the back of his tunic.

“Don’t even think about running off,” Celegorm says, smiling. “Be good, and I won’t have to hunt you down.”

Elros is dropped and seconds later, Elrond is embraced tightly. He hugs back, closing his eyes with relief. Mother may have jumped, Father may have left, but he still has Elros.

Curufin’s voice interrupts them. “If you can walk, and keep up, we will not carry you. If you cannot keep up, we will carry you again.”

Elros looks stricken at the thought of being lifted by Celegorm again, and Elrond is glad that he seemed to have the nicer of the pair.

Elrond grabs Elros’ hand tightly, and they set off after the retreating brothers. Elrond does not want to become food for Celegorm’s dogs.

The brothers approach a pyre set up on the clifftop with two bodies lying on top of it. Elrond is too small to view them, but he can see Curufin bury his face in his hands and Celegorm pull him into a hug, resting his chin on top of Curufin’s head. They are saying something again in the language that Elrond doesn’t know, and he feels a curiosity completely inappropriate to the current situation about it.

Elrond is surprised as Curufin breaks the hug and motions them over, lifting him and Elros up in turn so they can see. The elves on the pyre are red haired, like no elf Elrond has ever seen before, and their identical faces are unexpectedly peaceful. Below the neck they are covered by what must have been their cloaks and Elrond is glad for it, for they are stained dark with blood.

“They are our brothers,” Curufin says, and his voice is heavy with grief but it does not waver. “These are the fourth and fifth of our brothers to die, and now we are all that is left.”

“Is that why you’re stealing us?” Elros asks, always braver than Elrond. He keeps glancing nervously up at Celegorm, and gravitates more to the so far kinder Curufin.

“No,” Curufin says, surprised. “Why would we want you for that? Our brothers are irreplaceable and you will never be them.”

Celegorm nods in agreement. “It would be an insult to their memory to replace them with you.” He looks down at them. “You’re hostages that we plan to treat as though you were made of glass, and perhaps we’ll raise you properly. But don’t ever think you’ll be family like they were.”

Elrond swallows, then surprises himself by asking, “What were their names?”

Celegorm and Curufin exchange a glance, then Celegorm shrugs and calls over a waiting elf with a torch. He motions them to step back, before setting the flame to the pyre. As they watch the flames begin to lick at the bodies, the smoke joining the plume from the harbour, Elrond hears Curufin speak quietly.

“They were Ambarussa.”

-

By the time the pyre burns down, the remains of the Fëanorian host have assembled, and are ready to depart.

“We make for Amon Ereb,” Curufin says, before unceremoniously bundling Elrond in front of him on his horse. Elros is grabbed and hoisted up in front of Celegorm, whose horse has no saddle and no reins.

“You better hold on properly to me, kid,” Celegorm says. “She knows where she’s going, but she won’t particularly care if you get there with her.”

Elros nods shakily and grips tightly to the arm around his waist. They have never really been on horseback before. They have lived in the city their entire lives. Elrond immediately decides that he doesn’t like it. The rolling gait is like being on a ship, but without the option of standing and stretching properly.

They ride until the sun begins to set, and then stop to make camp. Elrond is surprised at the quick efficiency of the army, as there are soon many tents set up from the baggage train of sturdy horses.

Celegorm whistles for his pack of dogs and they come instantly, barking excitedly, milling around him in anticipation. He waves to Curufin, then disappears into the darkness for an hour or so before returning with several fat birds and two rabbits. He passes out his prizes to several nearby elves, saving a plump bird that Elrond does not know the name of for their own fire.

Celegorm immediately sets to quickly and professionally dressing and plucking his kill. He banters lightly back and forth with Curufin in the other language while he does it. Next to Elrond, Elros nudges him.

“Hey,” he says, in a hushed voice. “I don’t think they’re paying attention to us now.”

Elrond eyes the pair. “No, I don’t think they are. But we can’t run.”

“That’d be stupid, those dogs would have us in seconds,” Elros replies, and Elrond is relieved that he’s not trying anything stupid. “But that’s not what I want to talk about. I’m scared, Elrond.”

Elrond grabs Elros’ hand. “Don’t worry, if they haven’t killed us yet, I don’t think they will.”

Elros shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m scared about!”

He looks over at Celegorm, who is now enthusiastically rubbing some sort of herb on the plucked bird. “Remember what Mama told us?” he asks. “About the monster with silver hair?”

Elrond did remember. Mother had told them of the monster, more animal than elf, that had killed her family and forced her to flee to Sirion, where she had met their father. She was always really worried about them leaving her side, and almost never let them play alone for fear that the monster would snatch them.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Elrond asks, but in the pit of his stomach he knows.

“I think it’s _him!”_ Elros hisses. “I’ve been so scared and it’s all I can think about. Mama is- is gone and the monster came for us!”

The sound of laughter shocks the pair of them apart, looking across guiltily at Celegorm, the source.

He grins widely. “So, that’s what she told you?” Next to him, Curufin is scribbling busily on a parchment, and doesn’t even look up. “She said I was a monster, that I’d do... what?”

Elrond swallows. “Sh-She said that if we went wandering off you’d track us down and probably kill and maybe eat us.”

Celegorm’s smile widens, and Elrond is reminded of the sharks that the fishermen sometimes would return with in the markets of Sirion. “I wouldn’t be tempted by such skinny kids anyway. And you’d give little sport, too slow to run from me.”

Elrond presses closer to Elros, who loops an arm around him protectively. Elros has always been braver when Elrond needs comfort too. Elrond remembers how frantic their mother had been when news of the approaching army. They had wanted to go and play by the waterfall that morning, but Mother had made them stay inside instead. He wonders now if it was because she knew Celegorm was coming.

“But then,” Celegorm continues, “perhaps I could make some new hair ornaments from your bones. Your fingers look like they’d be delica- ow!!”

Curufin elbows him without even looking up. “Stop scaring them. I know you think it’s hilarious, but I need them only mildly traumatised, not screaming and refusing to go near you.”

Celegorm grins, unrepentant. “You kids want some food?”

Elrond is suddenly so hungry that he has second helpings of the surprisingly delicious meat. The dogs are quiet around them now, and despite knowing that he should not be, Elrond finds himself boneless and sleepy. The exhaustion of the day is catching up with him, and Elros too judging by the yawns. They fall asleep curled together near the fire, and do not even stir as Curufin lays his cloak over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t going to be like all the fluffy dysfunctional family M+M+E+E fics. There will definitely be fluffier moments to come, but the twins seeing the aftermath of the kinslaying and also being told scary stories about Celegorm (the terror of Dior’s line) means that they will be slow to trust.


	3. Chapter 3

Elrond is awoken by someone rudely ripping his blanket off him. He curls closer to Elros’ warmth in protest but a voice cuts through his sleepy haze.

“Come on, dawn is here and we need to get moving,” says Curufin. Elrond immediately jolts awake, rubbing the stickiness from his eyes.

Elros sits up next to him, and both of them stare at Curufin, who is fastening his cloak back on. Celegorm is nowhere to be seen, but around them is the bustle of the army packing up.

“I don’t have a change of clothes for you,” says Curufin brusquely, “so you’ll just have to manage until we reach Amon Ereb.” He glances at Elros, who looks miserable at the thought of having to stay in his soiled clothes for the long journey.

Elrond pats him on the shoulder in sympathy. Curufin hands them strips of lembas for them to chew for breakfast. Elrond misses his mother desperately as he eats it, and knows Elros is thinking of her too from his downcast face. She would bake the bread with them, and laugh as she dabbed flour on their noses.

Elrond swallows the lembas along with the lump in his throat. Curufin is fully ready now, and grabs them impatiently by the hands to lead them to the river at the edge of the camp.

“Wash your faces at least,” he says. “I intended to have you bathe last night but you fell asleep and I decided waking you was not worth the trouble. You can wash yourselves properly when next we stop.”

Elrond hastily washes the dried tears and sleep from his face, Elros beside him. Then, Curufin takes them to where Celegorm is waiting near the horses.

Elrond blinks. Celegorm is surrounded by birds. More birds than Elrond has ever seen, of many different kinds. He appears to be addressing them, but they are too far away to hear what he is saying. As they approach, the birds scatter and fly off, cawing and shrieking.

Celegorm turns to them. “I was done talking anyway, so thanks for the interruption I suppose,” he says, grumpy.

Curufin smiles at him, and Elrond is again struck by how unexpectedly kind his smile is. “You know you don’t mind really. What news?”

Celegorm looks at the twins, before glancing back up at Curufin. “Nothing good. I should have spoken to some seagulls before we left yesterday, but I didn’t think to with all the complications.”

Elrond and Elros exchange a look, wondering if Celegorm is actually just mad. Celegorm continues, “I sent that lot off anyway, but I imagine she flew off westward over the sea.”

Elros asks the question that Elrond has been thinking too. “Who flew off?”

Curufin sighs and rubs his forehead with a gauntleted hand. “Your mother.”

Elrond is astonished, and for the first time since yesterday he feels a flame of hope kindle inside his chest. “Mama did?”

“She turned into a white bird of some kind,” Curufin says, and Elrond grasps Elros’ hand to squeeze and release some of his giddy relief. Elros squeezes back, and Elrond knows he feels the same. “I know it was her because she clutched the Silmaril in her talons.”

Curufin pauses, noting their upswing in mood. “I would not be so elated if I were you. _She left you.”_

Elrond feels his hopes abruptly crash. But no, he still has them! “Mama hasn’t left us!” he says, surprising himself in his defiance. “She just must have gone to find Daddy!”

Curufin tilts his head in curiosity. “And where is your father?”

It is Elros who answers him this time. “Daddy went to sail to Valinor to ask the Valar for help.”

Curufin pales and then abruptly begins to laugh, almost hysterically. “The Valar? Fuck, maybe we should just kill you now!”

Next to him Celegorm swears, and moves to restrain Curufin as Curufin draws a knife from his belt. “Curvo! What are you doing?”

“It’s hopeless, Turco, all of it! The Silmaril is lost if he does not reach Valinor, and lost if he does! A dead man cannot pay our ransom, and the Valar would let the children die before they trade them for what they have so long coveted! Our Oath is doomed!”

Celegorm restrains Curufin, and the sight would be funny if Curufin wasn’t attempting to murder them, having done a complete about-face on his intentions towards them. He turns the almost hyperventilating Curufin towards him, and puts his hands on his shoulders, resting their foreheads together and murmuring in the other language.

“You have plans for them,” Celegorm says, in Sindarin. “Good ones. Plans that involve our vengeance on the line of Lúthien. The Silmaril may be lost for now, but even this setback is not insurmountable. What we potentially gain in keeping them alive is greater than the potential drawbacks, isn’t that what you told me?”

Curufin nods, closing his eyes, and Celegorm continues, “You will regret it if you kill them in rage, so I won’t allow it.”

Curufin calms almost as quickly as his temper flared. But Elrond now knows what lurks beneath that tranquil surface and resolves to be more careful in future.

Next to him, Elros asks, “So it’s because of the Oath you did this?”

Curufin turns back to them, and his eyes are filled with fire once more. “Because of the Oath?” he asks. “No. The Oath is in our flesh, in our bones, in our blood. In our souls. But we would have done this even without the binding power of swearing it on Eru’s name. We would have chased the Silmarils forever even with no binding contract, for they are our father’s and the last thing we have of him.”

Next to him, Celegorm is nodding. Curufin continues, “Do I regret what has happened?” His eyes almost hurt to look into now with the sheer intensity of his gaze. “My only regret is that my family should have died for this. Were I to turn back time, I would wade through the blood of hundreds of thousands of our kin to ensure their safety.”

Celegorm puts a hand back on his shoulder, and Curufin glances up at him, before returning his gaze to the twins. “We are Fëanáro’s most ardent sons, and we burn with his flame. The idea that the Oath is driving us to this is laughable, for we would have done anything for what belongs to us, the peerless works of his hands.”

Both Elrond and Elros are silent at this, unsure of what can be said.

“Come on,” says Celegorm, “looks like we’re ready to move out.”

Elrond shies away from Curufin when he comes to pick him up, but is unceremoniously grabbed and dropped onto the saddle in front of him once more. Elros is similarly protesting across from him, complaining that the lack of saddle on Celegorm’s horse has made his legs bruise. Celegorm just ushers his horse into a trot in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Curvo only has like two beserk buttons rn and the twins just slapped the big one. (Drama King)
> 
> curvo: IF YOU CUT ME, DO I NOT BLEED FEANORIAN?  
> turco: you tell ‘em


	4. Chapter 4

It takes around two weeks before reaching Amon Ereb but finally they arrive. A number of the army has already broken off in dribs and drabs in the few days before reaching it to return to homesteads that were further away from the fortress.

The fortress is situated on a large hill that stands on its own in the middle of the plain. Even Elrond can realise the strategic value of such a place.

The remainder of the army disperses fully now, with only a few entering the fortress alongside them. Celegorm observes him noticing and says, “Yeah, we only use a few people here. Our followers have lives of their own, and they will come if we put out the call. But we do not require any but a skeleton crew to guard this place.”

Inside the fortress walls, the castle itself is rather modest, aside from the smithy which even to Elrond’s untrained eyes appears large and well equipped. The fortress is not large enough for a proper barracks, he sees, but there is a small pen containing some chickens.

Inside, the hall is dark and fairly small.

“This was intended as just a fortification with a small guard,” Curufin says, “so it is lacking in significant comfort.”

Under his breath, Elrond hears Celegorm mutter, “And also it was built by Moryo who never intended to live in it so every expense was spared.”

Curufin catches the murmur and smiles at Celegorm. “So, as you can see, it will mostly just be us here. We will cook for ourselves-“

“I will cook for us,” Celegorm interrupts. “Curvo is renowned for being terrible at cooking, so I’ll be doing it.”

Elrond remembers that this has been the case for the entirety of their journey. He hates that the banter between the brothers has become normal and almost comforting now to him. They bicker constantly but even Elrond can tell that there is never any genuine heat to it.

He misses his mother like a constant ache in his chest. His father has been gone for long enough that the pain has faded somewhat, but Mother’s absence is like a throbbing hole. Elros is trying desperately to help fill the gap, but Elrond knows he misses her as much as Elrond does.

“We don’t have servants here, as I said,” continues Celegorm, “so you’ll need to help out around the place.”

Elrond is used to helping around the house anyway, and this will not bother him overmuch. Next to him he can feel Elros’ impatience.

“So what?” Elros erupts. “You expect us to just _help you?_ Like we aren’t _prisoners?”_

Curufin blinks at him. “So far, we have been rather kind to you, as prisoners go. Perhaps instead we should be cutting off pieces of you, hmmm? Perhaps I should do as Turco wanted, and let him just put you out of your misery?”

Elros is silent, and Elrond grabs his hand for comfort. Curufin of course notices, and grins. He has not had any outbursts like the one where he threatened to kill them since the first one. But Elrond knows now what lies beneath that veneer of calm and civility, and fears it. “But of course,” he continues, “I would rather not harm you, and I believe that in time you will come to enjoy life here.”

Both Elrond and Elros quietly exchange glances at that. Curufin has made no secret of his goals for them. It is a twisted plan to get revenge somehow by raising them well enough to love him. Elrond and Elros have quietly resolved together that they will never forget what has been done to them by Celegorm and Curufin, and that they will never love them. But Elrond already feels himself growing used to the brothers’ presence and feels a traitor for it.

Curufin clicks his tongue in impatience. Celegorm has disappeared somewhere, followed by his dogs. “Come, I will give you a brief tour of the fortress. It is small, so there is not much to show.”

They follow him through the gloomy corridor on the far side of the hall. “Our brother built this fortress well, but did not pay thought to creature comforts,” Curufin says. “As such, it has very thick walls and very small windows so it lacks any real natural light.” He pauses to gesture to the glowing lamps sparsely lining the walls. “These are Fëanorian lamps. I have kept them safe through many displacements, and they require no lighting or refilling with candles or oil.”

They climb a steep spiral staircase and Curufin now points out doors along the corridor. “This is the guards’ quarters. You do not speak to them, and they do not speak to you.” Elrond has no hope of escape or aid from those the brothers trust to guard them anyway.

“These are Celegorm’s chambers,” Curufin says, passing another door. This one is open so Elrond is able to see in. The room is wrecked, with large dogs sitting where they like, chewing on furniture. The bed itself is broken too, and Elrond wonders if Celegorm sleeps on the floor like a dog.

The next door is apparently Curufin’s quarters. “I am only to be found here very late at night,” Curufin says. “At most other times you would be wise to seek me in the forge. If you do need me and cannot find me, ask Celegorm and he will be able to help you. However,” here he fixes the twins with a stern gaze, “I am not to be disturbed for trivial matters.”

Both Elrond and Elros nod, and apparently satisfied Curufin continues to another room, and opens the door to invite them in.

The room is appointed well enough. The thick stone walls make it cold and dark, but someone has strewn thick furs across the floor, and hung tapestries on the walls in an attempt to ward off draughts. The beds are separate, but have been pushed together by their former inhabitants, and Elrond is grateful for it. Curling up with Elros to sleep is a great comfort at the moment, and he would not want to show weakness in front of the Fëanorians to ask to share a bed.

There are hunting weapons placed tidily in one corner, and Curufin walks over to gather them up. “I will teach you to use a sword, and my brother will teach you the bow, in time. But for now you will only hurt yourselves on these, so I will remove them.”

“Who did this room belong to?” Elrond asks, curious.

“It belonged to our brothers,” Curufin replies, his voice unwavering but heavy with sorrow, “who died in Sirion.”

So, the dead twins. Elrond ponders on the significance of this for a moment, before deciding to leave it.

“I shall heat you up some water for a bath,” says Curufin. “After travelling in those clothes for such a long time, you are rather ripe. I also still have some clothes in your size, possibly.”

He gestures for them to follow him to another room. “This is the room in which we keep the bath.” It is a huge tub, with no running water of its own. Curufin catches their gaze. “I have had no chance to install proper plumbing,” he says irritatedly, “and Caranthir did not consider it when he built this place. We are not near any hotsprings here or I would have rigged something, nor are we particularly close to the river. The fortress has a well but I would rather not waste water on comforts. So, it is a slow process to draw up a bath. You will have to share.”

He leaves them there and bustles off to presumably heat the water.

“Elrond,” Elros says, as soon as Curufin’s footsteps fade, “we have to escape somehow.”

“Escape?” asks Elrond, incredulous. “We are many miles from Sirion, Elros, and we have not the survival skills to even make such a journey!”

“But-“

“And even if we did,” Elrond continues, “Celegorm would hunt us down with those dogs! We can’t escape, Elros.”

Elros’ face falls. “You’re the clever one as always,” he says. “Those blasted dogs! And the guards too, of course.”

“There’s no hope,” says Elrond. “All we can do is wait, and survive.”

“There is hope!” insists Elros. “If Mama finds Daddy, they’ll rescue us!”

Elrond smiles somehow. Elros always knows what to say. “We just need to be patient!” he says, and hugs him. Elros’ surprised squawk is all he needs to feel better.

Before long, Curufin returns with a large, steaming bowl of water. A few more trips have the tub completely filled, and a satisfied Curufin motions to the soaps and oils laid out on top of a small table. “Use any of these,” he says. “I trust you are old enough to bathe yourselves?”

Elrond and Elros both nod quickly. Curufin helping them bathe is a nightmare scenario that no one in the room wants. “I shall leave you clothes outside the door,” Curufin continues, “and towels are here.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.

The bath is everything Elrond has dreamed of on the long journey, hot water soothing the ache from riding the horse, and finally being able to scrub the dirt from his skin and wash the tangles from his hair. It is not like their bath in Sirion, where Mother would sit with them and let them play with toy ships on the surface of the water. But it is still the best thing Elrond has had since that awful day.

The clothes Curufin left out are worn but well made and cared for. They are simple tunics and trousers, but they fit well enough. Elrond and Elros are tall for their age, so even the clothes of an older child fit them.

They find Curufin and Celegorm in the hall, conversing rapidly in what Elrond now knows to be Quenya over a meal. As they approach, Curufin gestures for them to sit down.

“Help yourself,” says Celegorm. “I foraged some nice things. It’s easier to find things here to eat because I know it well.”

Elrond is no longer worried about being poisoned by Celegorm and so helps himself and Elros hungrily to the salad, filled with edible flowers and fruit, as well as some herbs Elrond does not know. Curufin passes them some bread, and Celegorm sighs and confiscates the plate of meat from Curufin’s avaricious grasp to hand to them too. Elrond notices that Curufin only has bread and meat on his plate, but it is the first time he has had proper greens in weeks, so he pays no mind and devours them.

“Alright,” says Curufin, when finished with his conversation in Quenya, “we need to discuss your education.”

Elrond and Elros look at each other. Elrond is less horrified than his brother. Elros is a very active person, but Elrond loves learning.

Curufin continues. “Firstly, the matter of language. I refuse to speak Sindarin in my own home to babysit you. So, starting today I shall begin to repeat what I say in Quenya so that you can start to understand it. The languages are similar, and you are young, so it should not take you overly long. I expect results in three months, at which point I will stop addressing you in Sindarin.”

Elrond resolves to help the stricken Elros with this. “Secondly,” Curufin says, “I need to know your education level about geography, history and in the arts. Also, whether you know your letters.”

Elrond does know his letters. He remembers sitting with Mother and one of her books on their sunlit balcony, and tracing the letters with his fingers. _Tinco, parma, calma, quesse..._ He knows them all. Elros does too, but he does not share the same adoration for the written word as Elrond does.

They chew in silence for a moment. Then, Elros asks, “Who did these clothes belong to?”

Curufin stiffens, and across from him, Celegorm makes a pained expression. Misinterpreting it, Elros continues, “Were they from children you killed?”

Curufin turns to him. “They belonged to my son.” His closed expression tells them that the topic is finished with, but Elrond burns with curiosity now. Where is Curufin’s son?

The meal is finished in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> curvo bitches about moryo partly as a way of coping with his death. if he talks about him like he’s still here, maybe he won’t be dead. turco deals with grief by being busy and active.
> 
> turco doesn’t actually sleep on the floor with the dogs don’t worry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond’s better at compartmentalising than Elros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for descriptions of animal butchery

It is three months since they arrived at Amon Ereb and Elrond can already feel himself slipping. Life with Celegorm and Curufin has become normal, and he hates himself for how easily he has accepted it. Elros is finding it harder to adapt, which is unusual for the pair of them. Elros is usually the leader, the brave one, but now Elros is quieter.

It’s the Quenya. Elrond helps him as much as he can, but where he finds the new language to be fun to learn, and is reaching conversational fluency, Elros has difficulty adjusting to it. As a result, while Elrond can understand the conversations between Celegorm and Curufin now, and sometimes add his own thoughts to them, Elros retreats into silence.

They’ve argued about it, more than once. Elros thinks Elrond has forgotten their father, abandoned their mother. Elrond cannot make him see that he _hasn’t,_ that he’s only making the best of a bad situation.

Today is not helping. They are sat with Curufin in the hall, near the hearth. The fire is always lit to give the dim and cold stone room some light and warmth, but over at the other side of the hall the chill tends to linger. At the next table, two of the guards from the night shift eat. Elrond does not know their names, the guards change every month and are scrupulous about never speaking to either him or Elros.

“This morning,” Curufin says, in Quenya, “I thought I should finally go over your genealogy with you. On your father’s side, of course.”

Elrond cannot help but be excited. Their father had never spoken much of his family. Elrond knows that his grandparents had also sailed off to the West and never returned, but Father never spoke of more than this.

Curufin turns to look at Elros, who is frowning, and rolls his eyes. “I’ll speak in Sindarin, I suppose,” he says, sighing.

Elros glares at him. “I don’t need your scorn,” he replies angrily, making the two guards at the next table pause their conversation to stare.

“Children have minds that allow them to learn languages quickly,” says Curufin without even blinking. “That your brother has learnt it so easily shows that it is no failing of your age, merely of you.”

Elrond, fearing an explosion, puts a hand on a red-faced Elros’ arm. Elros’ rage subsides, but he pulls his arm roughly away from Elrond, leaving him with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Anyway,” Curufin continues, watching the interaction with interest, “I shall discuss your lineage.”

He points to an intricate family tree written in what Elrond now knows to be Curufin’s chicken scratch handwriting. Curufin is very much of the “Do as I say, not as I do” school of teaching.

“You are the sons of Eärendil,” says Curufin, tapping on the name with a finger, “as you no doubt are already aware.” He follows the link up to rest on another name. “Eärendil is the son of Idril Celebrindal and the human Tuor.”

This, again, Elrond had vaguely known. He had known about their Mannish blood on both sides, but had not known the name of his grandfather. The family tree does not go into his grandfather’s lineage, however, so he returns his attention to where Curufin’s finger now rests on his great-grandfather.

“Turgon of Gondolin,” Curufin says. “I knew him well.” He looks like he wants to say more, but does not dwell, instead continuing up. “Then we have Fingolfin, who again I have more than passing familiarity with as a usurper undeserving of the crown.”

Elrond would question that, but he has noticed that on the other side of the family tree to Fingolfin, born of another mother, is a name he recognises instantly. “Fëanor!” he cries, jolting Elros from his sulk.

“You mean to say we are related?” Elros says, standing to try to view the family tree from another angle.

“Well if you’d let me finish-“ Curufin says, but Elrond interrupts him.

“There! I see your name!” he says, pointing to Curufin on the tree, amidst the six names of his brothers. He picks out Celegorm too, only separated from Curufin by Caranthir. The names are of course written as their original Quenya names, but Elrond is practiced at divining the Sindarin names from them by now.

 _”As I was saying,”_ Curufin continues, “yes, we are related. Distantly. Through my half-cousin that I...” He trails off, as though thinking of a way to describe Turgon. It is the first time that Elrond has ever seen Curufin almost lost for words. “That I had a complicated relationship with,” he finally says.

Elrond gets the feeling that this is an understatement.

“I did know your grandmother fairly well when she was a child, though,” Curufin says offhandedly.

“Really?” asks Elrond. Elros is leaning over the table next to him, and Elrond can tell that he is curious despite himself.

“Yes,” replies Curufin. “She and my son were good friends.”

Curufin does not often mention his son. Elrond can tell that it pains him to think of him. From the little he has gleaned over the last few months, Curufin does not know where his son is, only that he is alive. Elrond hates that this makes him both sympathise and empathise with his captor.

Elros asks, “What was she like?” Usually Elros refrains from anything but cursory and usually antagonistic interactions, so Elrond is surprised. They both got over their fear within the first few weeks, and now that fear has turned to distrust, and in Elros’ case, open scorn. It is hard to fear someone when you live in such close quarters with them, and after the first few tense days the Fëanorians have done nothing to make the twins think they will harm them. Elrond knows what lurks beneath the brothers’ façade, but they have been so stable and almost amiable for the past weeks that their initial introduction seems almost like a dream.

Curufin seems surprised that Elros is asking him too, if the raised eyebrow is anything to go by. “She was a good child,” he says. “Always played nicely with- with Tyelpë.” Elrond notes the hesitation before he speaks of his son. “She liked to dance.”

It’s strange to hear the usually so caustic Curufin speak kindly about someone. They sit in silence for a short moment. Then, Elros breaks it.

“So, what about our mother’s side?”

The peace shatters. “Your mother’s side is a history of thieves and those who sat safe in Doriath while war raged around them,” says Curufin scornfully. “They would not be worth the paper I wrote the family tree on.”

They are saved from an argument between Elros and Curufin by the castle door banging and the sound of dogs barking. Celegorm returns from the hunt, the carcass of a doe over one shoulder.

“Hey, Curvo,” he says, shooing away several prancing, happy dogs, “you done with them? I could do with some help preparing this.”

Elrond looks to Curufin, then to Elros who is clearly weighing his options. They are both still more than a little wary of Celegorm, although he has done nothing to hurt them since the awful first day. But even so, Elrond knows Elros enjoys the things Celegorm has them do far more than the things Curufin wishes of them.

Curufin sighs. “Do you need both?”

“I can technically do it myself, but y’know, more hands make light work,” says Celegorm cheerfully. “And weren’t you grousing just yesterday that you never get time to do what you like in the forge? Let me have them, and you can go craft.”

Elrond hates that he finds Celegorm so likeable these days. His private face with Curufin is as warm and cheerful as his first impression was psychotic and bloodthirsty. He finds himself increasingly letting his guard down around Celegorm, which he knows is foolish and will certainly come back to bite him. It is the same with Curufin. Living alongside them has humanised them.

“Fine, have them,” Curufin says. “Still have to speak Sindarin though.”

Elrond looks at Elros. The entire conversation has been conducted in rapid Quenya, and while Elrond knows his brother can pick up a lot of it, he doesn’t understand everything.

Celegorm nods and Curufin motions for them to get up. The guards have already left, presumably to sleep.

“Alright,” Celegorm says, “to the kitchens.”

The kitchen is larger than the one in their house in Sirion, with a sturdy oven and a large fire to spit meat over. The large wooden table in the centre of the room is scrubbed and clean. Celegorm makes his way over to the gambrel on the other side of the kitchen.

“Everyone should know how to do this,” he says seriously.

Elrond stares into the glassy eyes of the deer on his shoulder. Knowing now that Celegorm can speak to animals, his ruthlessness feels enhanced somehow. Elrond wonders sometimes If Celegorm really would eat other elves if given the chance.

As if sensing his thoughts, Celegorm turns around. “If you’re going to hunt something, you should have a reason,” he says, seriously. “If you’re hunting for food, that’s self explanatory. If you hunt for sport, use at least something from whatever you kill.”

He gestures to the bone ornaments that are braided into his hair. Elrond cannot help but shudder slightly. He has not studied a lot of anatomy yet, but many of those bones appear to be suspiciously humanoid to him.

“I would usually field dress this deer alone, but as I said, it’s an important skill. I taught my younger brothers and my nephew to do this, and I may as well teach you now.”

“Why would you teach us, when it could help us escape you?” Elros asks, and Elrond wants to smack him for potentially popping Celegorm’s good mood bubble.

But Celegorm just laughs. “Kid, I could teach you everything I know and you still wouldn’t escape me. You’re young, and I have centuries of extra experience over you. I don’t have to worry about that.”

Elros is silent next to him, and Elrond wants to reach out and comfort him. But he remembers Elros shrugging him off earlier, and thinks better of it.

Celegorm hangs the doe by its hind legs on the gambrel, and takes them through how to remove the parts that will spoil. He’s a good teacher, Elrond is surprised to find, unexpectedly patient.

Elrond is also surprised by himself. The lesson fascinates him. He’s been looking over Curufin’s anatomy drawings since he got here, but he’d thought of it as merely academic in nature, and that he’d be too squeamish to ever look in person. But as Celegorm’s hand guides him to use the knife to carefully remove the innards without piercing them, he realises that he wants to know more. He peppers Celegorm with questions about what each organ is for, which Celegorm answers. Elrond can feel Elros’ eyes burning into him, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop.

“If you’re interested in healing,” Celegorm says, finally, “both Curvo and I know at least enough to get started. It’ll be useful to have someone around who knows it. Ask Curvo for more of his notes, he’s got a whole stack from when he was making prosthetics.”

Elrond resolves to do just that.

-

Later, when the twins are sent to bed, the other shoe finally drops on Elrond’s good day.

“Why are you doing this?” Elros hisses. There are tears in his eyes. “Why are you being so- so _nice_ to them?”

“What do you-“ Elrond starts, but Elros interrupts him.

“You follow them around like one of Celegorm’s dogs. You speak their language, you seek their praise. You don’t even bother to act like you hate them any more! Have you even _thought_ of escape?”

“I-“

“Have you even thought of _our parents?”_ Elros is breathing heavily now, and tears are flowing down his cheeks. “I feel like I hardly know you now, Elrond.”

Elrond feels something break inside him. “I’m making the best of our lot,” he says, but the words sound like a lame excuse even to his ears. He has thought of their mother and father, of course he has, but...

“Well, don’t expect me to do the same,” Elros says. He moves to his bed, and begins to pull it away from Elrond’s. It is heavy, and he is small, but he manages to move it a few inches away.

“Wait, what are you doing?” asks Elrond.

“I don’t want to sleep next to you,” replies Elros.

“I’m sorry,” says Elrond, and he’s crying now too. “I just want to make the best of the situation we’re in. I’m learning a lot and-“

“They’re _murderers,_ Elrond,” interrupts Elros. “How could you forget it?”

Elrond’s voice sticks in his throat and all he can do is shake his head. Elros wipes furiously at his eyes.

“Good night, Elrond,” he says, and blows out the candle.

Elrond gets ready for bed silently in the darkness. He doesn’t sleep easily that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of humour after a fairly downerish ending - have curvo’s Thoughts on Turgon from the chapter:
> 
> https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/522170161659248640/522178822469320714/image0.png


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stockholm/Lima syndrome, probably

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I moved jobs and house and city. Sorry it’s so short too, I’m hoping to have another chapter out in the next few days to make up for it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Celegorm’s views on Elwing and Eärendil are not mine, he’s a Biased Source.

It has been days and Elros is still giving Elrond the cold shoulder. They spend their meals and lessons together, but at all other times Elros ignores Elrond’s entreaties for reconciliation and goes off on his own.

It hurts most because Elrond knows that Elros is right. He _does_ feel like a traitor to their family, but he cannot help it. He wants to learn what Celegorm and Curufin have to teach him, and that innate thirst for knowledge is almost unquenchable.

Elrond thinks that the brothers have noticed too, if the knowing glances exchanged at meals where Elros will barely even look at anyone are anything to go by, but they don’t seem to take particular joy in it, to Elrond’s surprise. Celegorm has even taken him aside and told him that from his experience with ‘huffy brothers’, it’s best just to wait it out. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that advice.

So, while Elros gives him the silent treatment during an afternoon of free time, Elrond plucks up his courage and goes to see Curufin.

The forge is separate from the castle, across the small courtyard. Even to Elrond’s untrained eye, it is well equipped for such a small castle forge, as large as some of the smithies in Sirion. When Curufin is at work, the noises bounce off the thick curtain walls surrounding them, and echo around the courtyard.

Curufin is carefully pouring molten metal into a cast as Elrond approaches, and he quickly finishes his task and turns to face him, wiping at his sweating brow with a rag.

“Here to interrupt me?” he asks, slightly irritably. He has made it clear before that he hates being bothered while in the forge. “If you want me to intercede with your brother, forget it.”

Elrond jumps slightly at his words. “No,” he says, “that wouldn’t help anyway.”

“Then what are you _here_ for?” snaps Curufin

Elrond doesn’t let himself wilt. “I wanted to see what you were doing, and see if I might learn about it.”

Curufin blinks. “You haven’t shown much interest in craft so far.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be good at it, but it’s still interesting.”

Curufin tilts his head to the side a little, like one of Celegorm’s dogs. “Interesting,” he repeats. “Yes, I suppose it is that.” He stares for a moment, consideringly, and Elrond does his best to hold that measured gaze. Eventually, Curufin nods.

“Fine,” he says, clapping his gloved hands together. “I take it you’ve never been in a forge before?”

Elrond shakes his head. He doesn’t bother trying to seem like he knows more than he does - there’s nothing Curufin hates more than the twins bluffing about what they do and don’t know.

“I’ll start with the basic safety, which is _the most_ important thing to remember,” Curufin says, still looking Elrond in the eye. “Do not touch anything unless I directly ask you to touch it. There are things in here that are very dangerous to experienced craftsmen, never mind small, inquisitive hands.”

Curufin rattles through a lot of rules which mostly seem to Elrond to be common sense, but he carefully commits them to memory anyway.

“Do you know how to treat a burn wound?” Curufin asks, at the end of his list.

“No,” says Elrond.

“Would you like to?”

“I would!” says Elrond enthusiastically, before pausing. “If that’s alright, anyway.”

Curufin raises an imperious eyebrow. “Would I ask, if it were not alright? It is important to know how to treat a burn if you are working in a forge, as accidents happen. It is _also_ a generally useful skill to learn.”

Curufin takes Elrond through how to look after scalds and burns, and how to bandage them; held under cold water and then to be wrapped in the bandages kept in the corner of the forge.

“They are special,” says Curufin. “They are not fluffy, so they will not stick to a wound.”

Elrond winces slightly at the thought, and Curufin smiles grimly. “It is a most unpleasant thing, and you should hope it never happens to you,” he says, with the tone of experience. “Anyway, I believe that you are now sufficiently prepared. I know this apron is too big, but please wear it just in case of sparks. I do not have gloves that will fit you, but if you intend to continue with these lessons in future I will see about procuring you some.”

Curufin turns back to the anvil, and returns to work, narrating his motions to Elrond, and occasionally asking him to hand him certain tools. The afternoon passes very pleasantly in such a manner, until a few hours later.

“Pass me the file,” Curufin says, and Elrond quickly grabs it.

“Thankyou, Tyelpë,” Curufin says absently, and freezes.

Elrond pauses, unsure what to do. “I’m-“

 _”I know who you are,”_ Curufin says slowly, and Elrond backs away, mindful of the mercurial nature Curufin has shown in the past. “I know who you are,” he repeats, before sighing. “Please, leave me.”

Elrond quickly pulls off the apron and runs back across the courtyard to the castle, but not before looking back to see Curufin quietly swipe his gloved hand across his eyes as though wiping tears.

-

Elrond finds himself at a loss as to what to do with the rest of his afternoon. Elros has all but disappeared, and Elrond isn’t sure he’d want anything to do with him anyway, and he does not want to try his luck again with Curufin so soon. He sits in the hall and half-heartedly makes a stab at reading through one of the books Curufin had recommended for an aspiring healer.

The hall door opening and an influx of muddy dogs with wagging tails jolts Elrond from his contemplation. While his initial experience with Celegorm’s pack of dogs had been nothing but negative, that awful day has faded in Elrond’s mind a little with time, and it is hard not to reciprocate when the animals come to him looking for affection. He pushes away an inquisitive nose, and cannot help but laugh as a happy hound licks his hand.<

“What’re you up to?” asks Celegorm, holding his catch. It appears to be several birds, and Celegorm grasps them by their long necks. The dogs that aren’t accosting Elrond mill around his legs, barking excitedly. “I saw Curvo and he practically bit my head off, what’d you do to him?”

The look on Elrond’s face must have been something, as Celegorm quickly continues, “Not to worry, he gets like this sometimes. I was joking, mostly.”

Elrond nods slowly, feeling a little better about the whole thing.

Celegorm sighs, pushing away a dog that gets too close to the dangling birds with the ease of one well practiced. “You still fighting with your brother?” He doesn’t wait for Elrond to answer before continuing. “He’ll get over it. The bonds of full brothers are more important than anything.”

Elrond finally finds his voice. “I don’t think he will,” he says quietly.

Celegorm waves a dismissive hand. “Curvo once refused to speak to Moryo for two months. I can’t even remember why, but it was over something _completely_ trivial. It happens.”

Elrond cannot help himself and says, “Well this isn’t exactly trivial, it’s over me being a traitor to our family.”

Far from stopping Celegorm in his tracks, the revelation makes him nod in understanding. “I mean, I understand,” Celegorm says, and Elrond hates that he really does sound like he might. “I’d be angry as anything if someone murdered their way through my city and then kidnapped me.”

Elrond blinks. “This seems... odd, coming from you,” he ventures, after a moment.

Celegorm moves to sit opposite Elrond at the table, dropping the birds to one side, and looking at Elrond, chin cupped in his hands.

“I know I might have made a poor impression on you,” he says, mouth curling into an unrepentant grin at the thought, “but in all fairness I wasn’t exactly stress-free myself that day.”

Elrond raises his eyebrows in surprise at the frank admission, and Celegorm laughs. “I don’t actually usually make a habit of wandering the land, searching for small children to murder and eat, despite what your mother may have told you. I just found it incredibly funny that she said such things about me, and leant into it a little.” His smile fades. “Remember, Curvo and I had also lost family that day. I was not quite in my right mind.”

Elrond finds himself laughing, almost hysterically. “So you’re what, you’re _sorry?_ For murdering our friends, for forcing Mama to leave us?”

“I never said that. I don’t regret what we did, and I’d do the same thing all over again if it could bring our brothers back.” Celegorm’s gaze is steely grey, and Elrond is caught in it like a rabbit staring down a snake. “And we didn’t _make_ your mother leave. She chose between you and the Silmaril, and you lost out. Without even an Oath to drive her, she left you.”

He pauses for a second, then continues. “What your brother, who is hiding behind the door and foolishly thinks I do not know he is listening, fails to realise is that his loyalty, while admirable, is utterly misguided. We’ve had you for three months now. If you were _my_ children, I’d be tearing down the walls by now. But there is nothing, from her or your father, or any of your other surviving relatives.”

Elros emerges quietly, and he is crying. Elrond knows he won’t be appreciated, but he gets up and runs to hug him anyway, and is gratified when he is not pushed off.

“They’ll come,” says Elros. “You’ll see.”

“You keep on believing that, kid,” replies Celegorm, almost breezily. “In the meantime, what is the harm in adapting to your current situation? Again, as said, I’m a hypocrite because I know _I’d_ fight forever. But at the same time, if you forget your parents so easily with a few niceties from horrendous monsters like us, were they really good parents in the first place?”

With that, Celegorm picks up his birds and saunters off to the kitchens, leaving behind a thoughtful pair of twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outtake that might become its own story - Celegorm playing Intermediary between Curufin and Caranthir:
> 
> curvo: ask carnistir to pass the salt  
> turco: moryo, curvo wants you to pass the salt  
> moryo: tell curufinwe that i am still using it  
> turco: curvo, i know you heard him  
> curvo: no I didn’t  
> turco: he says he’s still using it  
> curvo: tell him that he must be eating the world’s saltiest meal then and i hope he hates it


End file.
